


The Ones that Got Away

by thesecondseal



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, ficlets, etc that don't quite belong in Acts of Reclamation or More Than Smoke (or a Glorious Disaster). Roads not taken, sorrows dodged. Things that could have been.</p><p>#post-breakup #angst</p><p>So...I bartered my writing for chapter five of The Mighty Zan's "Once Upon a Time" (and it's so worth it. once I find out if she's on AO3 and would like to be linked, I will do so). She gave me a prompt, a quote from one of her favorite book series by Jacqueline Carey. The quote was in first person and spawned these drabbles being in first person. I've quite enjoyed the writing exercise, and I hope you do too.</p><p>*quote is in bold and italics</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**I don’t think, before that moment, that he truly grasped the nature of what I was. He knew, of course; had always known, and had been the one person who’d never cared for what, but only who I was. I saw him comprehend it now, and feared. It could change everything between us.** _

If there was even anything left to change.

“Murderer.”

From across the garden, I watched Cullen flinch back from my mother’s pronouncement. It wasn’t the single word that wounded. It was each that followed. I had heard them before. _No sign of struggle. He hadn’t drawn his weapon. Her own brother._

They were the details that he had not wanted, and I—coward that I was—had been too afraid to give them to him anyway. So many obstacles. I had let myself believe that we could overcome all of them if only we took them a handful at the time.

My mother spotted me then. She had always had a knack for finding me when I least wanted her attention.

“Ask her,” she commanded him, with a familiar imperiousness that had me gritting my teeth. “She will tell you that she killed him without provocation.”

I wanted to strike out at her. Wanted to have her removed from our home. Our haven. Who was she to speak to him as if she were his better? As if she had not made of her nobility a crass and common thing. My pride bristled, and I knew it was a useless, stupid. Dangerous.

But I had never once raised my voice to my mother. It was a mark of my too often doubted vanity that I had never let her affect me so powerfully. She had been of little importance from long before I could remember. I was raised by mabari after all. But if I were being honest—and Andraste knew I tried to be—then I had to admit I hated her more than the brother I had sent to the Maker for judgement.

I lifted my chin as I crossed the garden. What she knew had come from father, to whom I had guiltily confessed all and miraculously been forgiven for my sins. But I did not want her understanding. I had never wanted the thorned gift of her love.

Cullen stepped away from her as I approached. We had not spoken in weeks, stepped carefully over broken sentences around the war table. I was unprepared for the step that he took from her to bring him almost within arm’s reach. I stopped myself before I got too close.

“It’s true,” I said, eyes steady on my mother’s as I gave her the words she wanted. “He hadn’t drawn a weapon. I stabbed him with his own dagger.”

I glanced at the knife in Cullen’s belt. The serviceable dagger was likely a Templar brother to the one I’d put in Mathieu’s throat.  Not too long ago it had been at mine.

“You heard her,” my mother said with tremulous outrage.

I nodded, in case anyone needed the confirmation.

“He was dead before he hit the ground.”

My mother swooned. My admission was the exact level of theatrics she had been hoping for. She was as surprised as I was when she hit the ground. We both glanced at Cullen in disbelief and I knew that he could see–if he hadn’t before–that I had my mother’s eyes. 

He returned my stare dispassionately. 

“Martin!” Cullen called, summoning the nearest guard.

Of course he knew the man by name. I sometimes wondered if he didn’t know the name of every soldier under his command, though that just didn’t seem possible. Of course, he used to point out that I knew the name of every horse and mabari I’d ever met.

 _Used to_. I hated those words. I turned them over in my mind as I watched my mother sulk on the ground, mouth agape that she was being left there. I wondered how long she would sit in the artful puddle of her skirts. The guard arrived, tendering me a perfunctory bow before giving his commander his full attention.  Cullen spoke in a brisk, efficient manner–words I should have been listening to, but wasn’t. Martin lifted my mother from the ground with a polite hand and led her from the garden. I heard her protest something, but I’d long grown cold to her feigned distress.

“She will be gone within the hour,” Cullen said quietly.

His voice was the same. Warm and low, drifting through me like comfort. It should rasp, I thought. It should be jagged and harsh beneath the weight of broken promises.

“What?” I shook my head, trying to clear it enough to grasp what he had said.

“The Lady Trevelyan is being escorted to her room,” he explained carefully. “Her attendants will be gathered, and they will depart within the hour. There is still more than enough daylight for them to begin the trip back to Ostwick. She is no longer welcome in Skyhold. If she has future business with the Inquisition, she can deal with our ambassador.”

I blinked at him. “You threw my mother out of—“

“No,” Cullen interrupted.

He pointed to the statue of Andraste’s mabari, to the plaque Fin had cast with Greta’s name and image on it.

“That was your mother,” he said definitively. “And anyone who spends more than five minutes with that woman knows she was not responsible for you.”

He was angry. I was unsurprised. He had been angry for months now. I wanted him to hate me. His love for me was a greater pain than any I had experienced.

“But she’s a part of me,” I reminded him. “I have her eyes, the same potential for such cold hate.”

He caught me roughly by one arm, fingers biting into the muscles around my elbow.

“Liar,” he whispered.

The accusation was soft on the edges, heavy. A tone that should have stroked endearments across my skin, twisting through sighs and shadows.

My breath stuttered in my throat. He hadn’t touched me since…well, it didn’t bear much thinking on. I had thought he would never do so again. I struggled to force my breath back into rhythm, fighting my body’s yearning. It missed him as much as my heart did, only was less reluctant to show it.

Cullen must have watched the war in my eyes. He let go of my arm so abruptly I nearly stumbled.

“I can’t make you hate me,” his confession was so close to my own thoughts that I giggled helplessly.

“No,” I agreed, near to tears. “I wouldn’t bother trying if I were you.”

He laughed softly and it was the most forlorn sound I had ever heard.

“Then why would you think that anything she said could change what you are to me?”

I was crying when he caught my arm again and pulled me close.  He kissed me, and I could taste the salt from my tears tangling with his goodbye. His lips were gentle. Reverent. For a moment part of me did hate him. His love was too strong. Too noble for the reality of our lives.

It would break us both before the end.

“I’m—“

Cullen stopped the apology against my lips. He knew that I would only throw the words back at him. His hands were on my hips and I wasn’t sure if he meant to keep me holding me against him or if he intended to push me away.

“Better?” I asked as coldly as I could.

He flinched, and I was rewarded with pain in the brittle depths of his amber gaze.

“Did you get what you wanted? The grand tragedy and noble farewell?”

He stared at me in surprise.

“Well, you can’t have it,” I said bitterly.

I was proud of myself for pulling away from him. For putting one,

two,

three aching steps between us.

“What use is your love?” I railed at him. “If it wounds more deeply than any hate?”

“Essa—“

“Don’t you dare say my name,” the words grated from me, hoarse with fury.

I drew myself up, tears drying as my skin warmed. I took a slow breath to pull my temper back.

“The Inquisition thanks you for dealing with our troublesome guest, Commander. In the future, please confer with either Josephine or myself before evicting any potential allies.”

He cleared his throat. Part of me wanted so badly to hear what he had to say, but I was tired of finding out how much more I could endure. I was beginning to believe there was no limit to the pain I could stand beneath. The realization was not a comfort.

“You will forgive me, Commander, if your defense of my heart feels a little hypocritical.”

I walked away before I shattered. I wouldn’t scream at him again. I wouldn’t beg anymore. My own demons had wearied long ago. They had found little purchase after my harrowing. I did not want anything that they could offer me, but his…His might be my undoing if Cullen didn’t find a way to defeat them.

And soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first smut! :) NSFW. yes, I am in first person hell (don’t send help, I love it here). break up sex, mild angst. grief and comfort. I don’t know what else to tag this with, it’s sort of new territory for me, so I’ll take suggestions. Essa and Cullen. If there are characters or mentions you don’t know, they’re ocs. 
> 
> This falls precisely nowhere in my (mostly) canon longfic and only possibly/probably falls in the version of More Than Smoke where Cullen and Essa break up. Still I am absurdly proud of it.

The square glass bottle was heavy. It would feel cool later, when I pressed my heated cheek to its side and asked it for answers neither of us had and that I probably didn’t want anyway. I didn’t drink often, but I knew my pattern, and tonight I was not going to be a fun drunk.

If I hadn’t been nursing a few injuries, I would have taken myself down to the training dummies or knocked around with the Iron Bull. He was good at the not talking. In the past few months he had done an admirable job at knocking me down enough that I could sleep at night, but a week ago, I had let him talk me into going after that damned Gamordan Stormrider and I had muscle strains and aches that would only heal with time and coddling.

No sparring for me.

I couldn’t sleep, though I wasn’t the only one. The whole place seemed restless. Maybe we were still used to being on high alert. Maybe it was the threat of spring, yearning with promise just beyond the last grasps of winter. I didn’t know, but something more than muted, impotent grief drew me out of my empty quarters, down the stairs and across the yard to the tavern, clutching the last of my father’s bottle of whisky.

There were more people inside than I had expected given the lateness of the hour. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, but this was a bit more than I had planned.

“Hey, boss! Come to join us?”

I had forgotten that Bull had asked me to come play cards tonight. I waved at him as I headed for the bar for a glass.

“Thanks but no,” I called. “I just want some quiet where it’s loud enough I don’t have to think.”

There was a murmur of concern from Krem as I passed close to the table. I shook my head.

“I’m fine,” I assured them. “Or I will be. I’m just—“

I sighed. “I’m going upstairs to hang out with Cole. I just want to think things at someone and not spit them out of my head and into the air.”

This, I admitted as I said it, would probably make much more sense to the spirit than the Chargers. I dropped a kiss on Krem’s cheek and punched Bull lightly in the back of the head. It hurt my hand more than his head.

“Make sure all of my air passages are still unobstructed in a few hours?” I asked.

Bull chuckled. “You got it, Boss. If Sera’s home, let her know you’re gonna be up there with the kid. She’ll want to check in on you too.”

I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. For someone who spent her life without a two-legged mother, I certainly had them in droves now. I stopped at the bar and Cabot handed me a heavy glass not much taller than the width of my palm and a taller one full of ice. I thanked him and tucked the bottle under one arm so that I could carry both glasses up the stairs.

I checked Sera’s nest, sighing a little in relief when she wasn’t there. I had already spoken to more people than I wanted, even if those were people I loved. What had made me come to the tavern again? I made my way up the last flight of stairs, lamenting my poor choice.

Cole’s arms came around me the moment I set my burdens on the table he had happily let me add to his corner. We were strange companions, but we suited.

“He was one of the chisels,” he said, hugging me gently. “One of the sharps to carve yourself into you.”

I hugged him back and he let me weep.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Tears out, poison in. You will sleep tonight.”

He never offered to make me forget, and I trusted that he had never done it without my consent.

“The shadows are your own.”

I didn’t mind that he replied to my thoughts. In many ways, interacting with Cole was not so different than my conversations with my four-legged friends. They did not need my words either and I did not feel the need to give them only the carefully tamed pieces of myself.

“You don’t fear the depth of flame,” Cole added sagely. “The edge of the storm will pass. We will weather it.”

We sat together at the table, sharing the bench that ran along the wall. I didn’t offer him any of my father’s whisky. He was right that it was poison, but most medicines are if you take too much. I dropped a chunk of ice into the heavy glass, poured two fingers of amber liquid and stared down into the cooling shallows for too long.

“He misses the light,” Cole imparted quietly. “Answers lie beside the wrong questions. He hates believing.”

I pulled out of my brooding and tossed the whisky back with a grimace. Fire burst around my heart and I coughed. I was doing the fine single malt a gross disservice, but I’d never developed a taste for these spirits, and “smooth,” I had found, was a relative term.

I heard a familiar tread on the stairs and glanced sharply at Cole. I had thought that my musings were the reason for Cole’s words. Eyes like firelight through whisky would always haunt me.

But I was wrong.

“I will leave you for a while,” Cole offered, tipping his head back so that the wide brim of his hat didn’t obscure his gaze from me.

His eyes searched my face.

“Match the inside,” he commanded and I couldn’t help but smile.

He glanced at Cullen as he paused on the stairs, head appearing just above the rail.

“Only the truth tonight,” Cole said.

He waited for Cullen to meet his shadowed stare. Waited another breath for Cullen’s slow nod. It warmed me that Cole would defend me. It comforted me that knowing that he knew I didn’t want him to. Cole’s hand pressed once on my shoulder.

And then he was gone.

I stared across the loft as Cullen gained the final steps. He wasn’t wearing his body armor, and I had let myself forget how at ease he looked in softly woven wool and well-tended linen. His shirt was the color of cream beneath a beige suit. Warm pale colors that brought out every leaf of gold in his eyes and hair. In the small scattering of fine hairs on his arms. He wore a heavy coat, navy wool trimmed in ermine. Spring was on the horizon, but it wasn’t here yet and the Frostbacks were cold, especially at night. I’d given him the coat as a gift on his last birthday. He looked tired, but not as tired as he had at the beginning of winter when we had been so busy unraveling one another.

I poured another two fingers of whisky over ice that had just begun to melt.

“I won’t keep you,” he began.

We already knew that, I thought, but I bit back the cruel words, tossed back a gulp of whisky as he continued.

“But I wanted to make certain you were all right.”

“Leliana told you then.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. They had watched me mourn my father, no matter how careful I had tried to be with my sorrow. I clunked the glass down on the table and leaned back against the wall. There was too much of a dare in my posture, but I was angry and grieving and his concern was going to break me.

“About Aubreg, yes,” Cullen nodded. “She didn’t send me to you if that is your concern.”

I laughed, too bitterly. “No, that was not my concern.”

It was more likely that the opposite would have occurred. Leliana would lash us both if we dealt too many injuries tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “I know that he meant a great deal to you.”

I shook my head. “We suspected he was dead. He wasn’t with the other templars. It stood to reason he died somewhere in the fighting.”

But he hadn’t. Knight-Commander Aubreg Nalen had died in his bed surrounded by his family one year ago. I didn’t know why it mattered, but it tore me up so to imagine the stern, unshakable man dying on his back. Losing to an enemy none of us could fight.

Time.

Cullen stood awkwardly across the table from me. I kicked the other bench out toward him.

“Sit or get,” I told him. “I’m not going to stare up at you.”

He sat and I topped off the glass, added another chunk of ice so the whisky road high against the edge. I offered it to him in challenge and was surprised when he took the glass from my hand. His fingers brushed mine and I wondered how hard it had been for him to make that contact. To have avoided touching me across the small space of the glass would have been more conspicuous than not, but such would never be casual between us.

He lifted the glass to his mouth and I watched the way his lips moved against the edge as if I still had the right to envy the vessel.  He took a careful sip, then another, eyes closing in the bliss that I was pretty sure only whisky lovers understood. The notes of Maryden’s song rose slowly toward the rafters, a sad tale of endless pining twisting up through the fine drift of smoke that seemed to always linger in the tavern.

“Es…Essa,” he stumbled over the nicknames. “Inquisitor.”

He shook his head and smiled ruefully as he returned the glass to me. He didn’t know what to call me. We were still in the stage of avoiding encounters when we would have need of anything beyond our titles. Cole was right that I did not fear flame or pain, but tonight I felt hollowed out with sadness.

“Not Inquisitor,” I refuted, finishing the glass in two burning gulps. “Not tonight.”

I placed the glass back down on the table. It clanked, loud in the loft’s comparative stillness. Below us, the tavern buzzed with sound muted by distance and—I stared at the bottle—too many spirits. I thought of how this was also Cole’s sanctuary and I snickered at what was surely a brilliant pun.

I bobbled the empty glass with my inappropriately timed laughter. I wished I could blame the alcohol, but I knew it was just nerves. Cullen reached out just as I lunged to catch it. He caught my hand instead, the glass and ice hit the floor with three different thuds. When the heavy glass rolled to a halt—unbroken—we both stopped.

Stopped reaching. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.

I stared down at our joined hands and all I saw was the rightness of it.

“I miss you,” I admitted.

He let go of my hand and sat back. I could feel him withdrawing into himself. Away from me. Before he could offer a reply that would only hurt us both, I smiled and shook my head.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He smiled slightly, lip quirking up at the corner brightening his scar.

“What did you mean then?”

There was a slight challenge in his voice that was only fair. I had called him enough on his bullshit.

“I want you.”

I had the satisfaction of watching him blink in surprise. He stared suspiciously at the nearly empty bottle of whisky.

“How much of that have you had?”

I rose to my feet, just to show him how steady I was. “Not nearly enough.”

I closed the bottle, warmed the glass of ice until there was enough water for me to drink. My mouth had gone dry. I wanted him. It was the first full truth I’d given him since we broke each other’s hearts.

I took another drink of water, set the cup down more carefully on the table and walked slowly around to where he sat. I stood too close to him, crowding myself more than him. Testing the steps I already wanted to take.

“I do miss you,” I amended, because I was being honest. Because Cole had implored us to tell the truth. All of it.

I hadn’t touched him yet. If he stood up and walked away I wouldn’t follow him and he knew it.

“Es,” he breathed.

I couldn’t read his thoughts in that soft murmur. That was the cheat with nicknames, not enough syllables to shape with our truths. Or our lies.

I looked down into his face. His eyes cut like gems though the dim light.

“I can’t give you—“ he started.

“I didn’t ask.”

His hand came up to rest on my hip. It was an easy familiar touch. One that neither of us registered until his fingers brushed involuntarily under the hem of my tunic and blazed fire against my skin. He looked as startled as I was by the sudden contact, but he didn’t pull away. There was reverence in his touch, there always had been. He had caressed me in that same manner a hundred times before; until I swore a permanent trail was burned into my skin. And that was precious too.

But not since never again. And Maker help me, I was sick of never again. I wanted tonight.

“What  _are_  you asking?”

His voice was rough. He didn’t trust either of us. His hand was still on my hip, thumb moving in lazy sweeps across fabric, under, then over my skin. I couldn’t look at him and discern his desires. What he allowed himself to have had never been commiserate with all that he wanted.

“Tonight,” I answered, though why I was stunned by my boldness when he wasn’t, I’ll never know.

“That,” he replied, so softly I had to lean down to hear him. “I can give you.”

He rose to his feet, and the momentum drove his lips roughly against mine. The strength of him pushed me back a step and his fingers dug into my hip as if to dissuade some imagined retreat. I stepped back into him, body bowing beneath his taller frame. Our lips warred, dealt sacred wounds that I knew would never heal. Scars that I would cherish for a lifetime.

I heard the bench scrape against the floor. It went over and suddenly we were moving, feet pushing and pulling us across the hardwood. We knew the steps of this dance. It had been one of our favorites, once upon a time. I sighed as my back hit the wall, his lips releasing mine on the exhale to travel, teeth sharp like forgiveness as he made his way down the longing arch of my throat.

My hands were in his hair, tunneling, gripping, tugging on soft curls he no longer bothered to restrain. I reached for the buttons on his coat and for one cold, fraught moment he stilled.

We searched each other’s faces for secrets we no longer had. I placed one hand against his cheek.

“I don’t want to do this,” I told him, summoning strength from some lost place. “If it’s going to hurt you.”

“Oh, Es,” and for one frightening moment, his voice was a stranger’s. “It is far too late for such sentiment between us.”

He kissed me hard, just shy of punishing. My hands shook as I returned to his coat, but he caught them in his and pulled away, shaking his head.

“No.” The negation was somehow warm and him again. “Not here.”

He held my hand as we stole outside. I worried that one of us would come to our senses as we stepped out onto the battlements, but we were alone and there was moonlight, and the night ached around us, yearning for the turn of the seasons.

Cullen pressed me back against the stone and kissed me, no apology in his hands as he began to deftly unbutton my trousers. I didn’t reach for his coat again. The wool hung around us like a shroud and I followed his lead, a step behind on whatever mad path we were taking. He shoved the worn leather from my hips, lifted me with one arm banded across my back so that I could kick off one short boot and pull my leg free of fabric. The thin strap of my panties snapped as I pulled at the ties of his trousers and I felt his smile curve against my clavicle an instant before his teeth scraped against over the bone. I fought fabric with clumsy urgency and won.

He was free for only a moment, the night air kissing heated skin before I rose up on my toes. He caught my bare leg and lifted me, pushed into me with a single motion that spoke nothing of months of absence. I tossed my head sharply, teeth gritting to keep the night silent.  His palm brushed my lips and I pressed a kiss there before biting down on the thick, callused flesh beneath his thumb.

He groaned against my neck, hands gripping, fighting, pulling my leg higher over his hip and holding me in place. These bruises he never minded leaving, little proofs of pleasure on my skin.

Marks of truth.

Every kiss. Every caress. Every tortured clasp of flesh was a remembered homecoming. This was our refrain.

The climb was too fast. It was perfect. I felt tears building behind my eyes, tendrils of grief unwinding from around my heart. I pulled my teeth from his hand, laved the wounds with my tongue before desperately seeking his lips with mine. He moved within me, a steady, unwavering rhythm, inexorable as faith. I tensed around him, hands clutching in his hair.

“Es…”

“I know.”

We hit the peak together, tumbled down the other side, clinging, struggling for air. His hands hit the wall on either side of me, holding us up. I could feel his legs shaking, his breath hot against my neck, but I couldn’t feel my feet. I knew I would have to get them back under me soon.

“Thank you,” I said.

When he laughed at us both for the utter ridiculousness of it all, I smiled.

“I wish I could say ‘anytime’.”

His quiet confession gently mocked us both.  We slid slowly from one another and the cold night rushed between us like a reprimand. We righted clothing with stark efficiency. I retrieved my boot and gave a small silent prayer that Cullen wouldn’t carry guilt for our impulses and my comfort. I waited for him to turn away, to go back to his solitude. 

To leave me to mine.

“You should sleep,” he decided.

And while I couldn’t argue with that, I thought I would definitely have to return to my bottle first. Cullen tugged on one of my hands and I followed him curiously back into the tower. It was still under construction, new furniture covered in heavy tarps to protect it from stone dust and wood shavings. He uncovered the bed with movements more controlled than those with which he had uncovered me.

I followed him down, let him pull me close like spoons in a drawer and cover us both with his cloak. He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.

“Sleep,” Cullen whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

He wouldn’t risk falling asleep with me, but I was too weary and selfish to not take what he was offering. I fitted myself against him, wishing that our bodies aligned as imperfectly as our hearts. I awoke just before dawn, still wrapped in his coat.

Alone.


End file.
